


Happy Birthday, Draco Malfoy

by phdmama



Series: A Life Well-Lived [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 02:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16631303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdmama/pseuds/phdmama
Summary: It's not every day a man turns 50.





	Happy Birthday, Draco Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published [on Tumblr](https://phd-mama.tumblr.com/post/174603658918/happy-birthday-draco-malfoy?is_related_post=1), but I'm adding it to my AO3 collection as well (slightly edited).

Draco lies naked on the bed, starfished across the matelasse spread. The feel of it under his bare skin reminds him of his grandmother’s house, which only contributes to the melancholy he’s feeling. She’d always loved him, he remembers, even at his most spotty and pointy. Even when he wasn’t particularly lovable. For a moment, he misses her with a deep ache.

Birthdays often do this to him, put him in this funny sort of bitter-sweet and nostalgic mood. And this one even more so. It’s a milestone, he thinks. Fifty years. It feels like a lot, and nothing at all.

It’s been a weird day. They’d gotten to the house yesterday, and the entire day had been a mass of chaos. Sorting out rooms, unpacking, figuring out what the local takeaway situation is. Ginny and Blaise had had a blazing row over whose fault it was that the case of champagne had been left behind, and Ginny had actually stormed out to portkey home to get it, until Blaise had chased her down the street and pointed out there was an off-license right around the corner. Draco snorts a bit at the memory. 

Today though, it’s his birthday, and it’s very bizarre because no one seems to have remembered. He supposed it’s slipped people’s mind what with the moving to the Devon coast for the summer. Harry’s been off with Ron and Hermione since the morning, antiquing for Merlin’s sake. Draco frowns. Harry hates antiquing but Ron loves it for some reason.

Harry had encouraged Draco to have a lie-in, and he’d found himself sleeping until 10 in the morning, which never happens these days. He’d had a lovely lunch on the back patio with Luna and Neville, and then spent the afternoon down on the beach, walking around and just sort of looking at things. Even though he’s retired, he still consults with the DMLE, as does Harry, and this last case had been terrible. He’s spent the afternoon picturing the sun soaking away the stains it feels like this case has left on his very soul, letting the salty spray of the sea rinse him clean.

He’d come back to find the house empty, the others all scattered Merlin knows where. Harry had left him a note saying they’d see him for dinner, and he’d taken a nap in irritation. Now it’s about 5:00. There are hours of sunlight left, and it’s a perfect early summer afternoon. Cool enough for a light jumper, warm enough to be completely comfortable outside. Draco does hate to be cold. He hears voices outside but can’t be bothered to get up and see what’s going on. 

It’s not that he needs a huge celebration. By the time you arrive at 50, a birthday is really just another day, he tells himself. He doesn’t need gifts or a party. But, he thinks wistfully, some sort of acknowledgement would have been nice.

The door opens, and Harry bustles into the room. He takes in the sight of Draco sprawled out on the bed, and his eyes darken in appreciation. Draco likes that about Harry, that even though Draco has been a bit anxious about the silver at his temples and the little belly he’s developed in the last couple of years, Harry still seems to enjoy looking at him naked. Who would’ve thought?

Draco rolls over onto his stomach and casts a flirtatious smile over his shoulder. “Potter.”

He’s never really been sure why he’s held onto the whole Potter thing. At first it was defense, and then it was becuse it made Harry laugh, and then it was habit and now, it’s just his name. Can’t be changed.

Harry slides next to him onto the bed as well, plants a kiss on his shoulder and runs one hand over Draco’s ass. Draco yelps.  

“Fuck, Potter, your hands are freezing!”

Harry just gives a mysterious grin and says, “I was carrying… cold things. Take a shower and get dressed, babe. We’re doing drinks out back.” 

He gives Draco’s ass an affectionate smack and gets up.

Draco feels more confused than anything. Between the two of them, it’s always been Harry’s job to keep track of birthdays and anniversaries. Draco does the grocery shopping, as well as the insect management and relocation program. They divide and conquer, it’s just what they do. If you’d asked Draco who would be more likely to forget his husband’s birthday, he’d have pointed at himself, no questions asked. In part, that’s because 3 years ago, he had forgotten. And then there was that time when he’d thrown Harry a huge surprise party for his 30th birthday, the year he turned 29. It had taken a few years for that to become funny.

Harry rolls off the bed and stands up. Draco realizes that somehow during his nap, Harry has already showered and changed. He’s wearing jeans and a thin sweater in a gorgeous shade of jade that lights up his face. His hair’s mostly silver now, and he’s got smile lines around his eyes, the result of a life full of laughter. He looks tired, like he could use a week of sleep and a blowjob, and his hair is messy as always, and he’s Draco’s favourite person in the entire world.

Draco sighs, trying to shake off the mood. He showers, pleased that this old house has such strong water pressure. He dries off, and pulls on comfortable linen pants and a sweater that’s the twin of Harry’s, in a deep cherry-blossom pink. He shoves his feet into moccasins and makes his way down the wide staircase and out through the kitchen to the back.

What he sees there makes him gasp. His eyes widen and, though he’ll deny this forever, fill a bit. His friends have moved the large table out into the garden from the back patio. Someone’s strung paper lanterns along the fence, and the table is festooned with streamers and glitter. There’s a pile of cards and presents at one end, and not only are all of his friends standing around the table waiting for him, his face lights up as he sees his children.

“Scorpius,” he says in delight, “When did you get here?”

Scorpius pulls him into a tight hug and Draco marvels once again, as he has for years now, that his son is taller than he is. 

“Harry smuggled us in while you were asleep this afternoon,” Scorpius laughs. “We couldn’t miss your birthday, Dad. Not the big 5-0.”

The other kids gather round, backs are slapped, cheeks are kissed, and Draco can’t quite believe it.

Luna drifts over, and says, “Draco, it’s important that you come and see if the champagne we got at the shop around the corner is okay, so that Ginny doesn’t have to divorce Blaise for forgetting  the Dom.”

And so Draco does, and pronounces the Moet perfectly delightful. He snacks on the wonderful array of tapas that his friends have laid out for him, and opens his gifts and cards. Some make him laugh, some make him cry a little, but it’s not every day a man reaches a half-century, so he thinks he’s allowed. He takes a moment to wander over to the lawn’s edge to gaze down at the waves crashing on the shore below.

The sun is setting over the ocean and the fireflies are out, and Draco looks back to where Harry is seated at the table, laughing at the story Pansy is telling. As Draco sips his wine, he can’t help but remember so many moments from their life together. He thinks of mornings spent rushing to get kids off to school and themselves off to work, and how the house has gotten quieter and quieter over the years. He thinks of family dinners and lazy Sunday brunches after love. He thinks of weddings and births. Funerals and loss. All the mundane moments, and when he looks back, he realizes that those moments are the very foundation of his life, and at the center of every single one, Harry. 

He remembers how impossible it had felt, when Harry had showed up after that boring ministry party, wild-eyed and a bit drunk, and how inevitable it had been when Draco had gathered all the courage he possessed to kiss Harry in the rain three months later. How scared he’d been, and how foolish that fear seems now. To think he might have missed it all.

Harry glances up and catches his gaze, and his face changes as he looks at Draco. He pushes back from the table and makes his way across the lawn to where Draco is standing. They look at each other in the glow of the sunset and then Draco smiles.

“Potter,” he says, and lifts his glass in a teasing salute. “Nicely done. I’d thought you’d forgotten.”

Harry just smiles back, and reaches over to take the glass out of his hand and takes a sip.

“Draco,” he says finally, “Happy birthday, baby. I love you.”

And then Draco kisses him in front of their friends and their children and the fireflies and the sunset, kisses him with the love and the knowledge and the weight of thirty years, until they’re both breathless. Kisses him and smiles, and says only, “I love you, Harry.”

And Harry, being Harry, just smiles back and says, “I know.”


End file.
